


Watchman

by nanasheeeh



Category: Bleach
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Gen, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Pre-Canon, Short One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-06
Updated: 2019-08-06
Packaged: 2020-08-10 04:09:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20129113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nanasheeeh/pseuds/nanasheeeh
Summary: Mimihagi being a guardian to smol Juu.





	Watchman

**Author's Note:**

> This feels like a fever dream but if upscaled it would potentially give you diabetes. I don't know.

  
  
He's not a scrawny brat like most of the kids that run past the front gates. Most children in this district - whether they have spiritual pressure or not - are taller and skinnier, like the tree branches that stretch over the garden wall.

This boy is small, with round, bright cheeks and a smile pure as the sun. He's a smart little thing that one, far too clever for his age.

The child is the only son of the temple keepers - a quiet, composed couple that comes by to clean away the overgrown plants and grass. They never enter inside the temple, only the area around it - no one does, just as no one is sure why. It is an unwritten understanding that the God sleeping there should have the respect of staying hidden if it wishes to. That boy of theirs helps as best he can with the chores. He can't be older than a year or two, but on days when the premises are full of dry leaves he sits in the corner and plays with the gathered piles and during festivals he prays with them and leaves offerings on the staircase.

Little boy, reckless and cheerful, who scratches his knee as he falls and sobs on this doorstep most passerbys hurry past. _ He would find shelter here. _

It's a long time until the child comes by again. Strange...it is not the habit of a God to measure time in such _ human _ ways.

_ He's waning. _

It's been a few weeks since he'd last walked this way. The radiant gaze in those eyes and the full, plump cheeks are hollower. Bones are starting to show and skin once smooth and clear looks dry and harsh as sandpaper.

The child holds onto his mother's hand, moving forward with slow, heavy steps. The woman looks devastated. She'd come by this way alone many times, each more heartbroken than the last. _ So this is why. _

They stop at the front door and stare across the yard towards the carved building.

No one but them ever entered this forgotten, desolate place, but now they too have become almost strangers.

_ It is a sad thing, to be abandoned again. _

Not long after the woman and her husband come back with a grievance. Again they hover at the entrance, staring at the debilitating roof of the temple and the yard they had not swept clean in months. The woman's face looks worn and older, a blanket wrapped bundle pressed tightly to her chest. _ Could it be? _

Boldly, without hesitation or reason for repercussions the pair strides forward, past the dirt covered yard, past the broken moss covered stones, past the inner gate that remains a last boundary of privacy for the residing God, coming face to face with the altar.

“Oh please, please” the mother begs and with a strange sense of finality places the blanketed bundle down on the ancient wood. “Save this child!”

No other prayer has been answered here before and no one else had given meaning to an existence cut from its core.

This tiny life will be an answer to a prayer, a wish worth many days of being seen.

This life will not be forgotten as gods are when they fall.

_ Come, small child, your flame is not one to be extinguished so quickly. _

He grows. Strong and wise and as tall as the others. He never forgets and neither does the lonely God.

**Author's Note:**

> It's literally 2am please tell me this wasn't a trash idea


End file.
